Truth in its absolute form is a black hole. It consists of the All, and what All truly is, in its utter entirety. It pulls me in, like a faint magnet, whenever words become nothing but sounds. Like music. Music which plays over a void of nothingness—a nothingness that is truly All.
We prance around the surface of Truth in ignorance—a willing ignorance, as we are too distracted by our world of noise. We watch the music above the ground so much that we never see that the ground we step on is a black so deep and so empty. A sight devoid of all life and any meaning. I know because I saw it.
Curiosity tripped me, and I accidentally saw it. So I rushed to pick myself back up and continued to walk among those who play their sounds. Among those who dwell within the music of life. Because I am afraid that if I were to fall into the depths of this hole, I might implode and reach lethal and life-ending insanity.
Life is much too valuable for blackness; it must be lived in colorful ignorance instead. Truth is Life’s greatest fear, for if Life met Truth, Life would cease to exist.
I’ve noticed increasingly that when people speak of certain aspects of the Truth—especially with matters involving right and wrong—a lot of times we are in fact speaking the truth, only that we have different ways of pointing to it, having different skins to do so as well.
Oftentimes, if not all the time, this applies to religion too. Whether it involves those who are of different religious backgrounds, or those who do not possess a religious background whatsoever. Both the religious and the scientific of various upbringings.
It is as if we are all pointing to a figure, resting at our center. I may say that this figure is a simple physical static object, incapable of emotion; while another might see an animate figure, capable of emotions, and power (such fundamental polarity lies at the root of much conflict in interpretation of the Truth). The other can call this figure, “It,” while I call it a block. We are both essentially pointing to the same exact thing, only that both of us see it differently. Why can’t we agree that it is a figure, that it’s something to love and appreciate, and that it’s something overwhelmingly amazing and beyond us? Regardless of what we see, this figure causes the world to work in such and such ways—why can’t we just discuss the workings of this world rather than waste time disagreeing who or what makes this world work?
By discussing those things, there is truly much more to agree on than there is to disagree on. We only seem to be blinded from any conclusive agreements because we see too much the surface matters we cannot agree on. But wipe out, for a moment, how the cover of our books appear, and read the deeper contents. We then find that there are several parallels between our world-views and beliefs.